आँशुको धुन (The Tear's Tune)

आँशुको धुन

उदासीको कालो बादलमुनि

निराशाको निस्पट्ट रातबीच

अफसोसको खडेरीले थिचिएर

रुखो जमिनमा घस्रिंदै गरेका

एक थान चिरिएका पैतालाहरु

चेतनाशुन्य एक जोडा आँखाहरु

अश्रु–श्रापित एक जोडा परेलाहरु

वर्षौंपछि,

कतैबाट आयो सुमधुर धुन

(यो सपना हो कि विपना?)

शायद सुदुर क्षितिजबाट

थाहै नपाइ,

गुडुल्कियो आँखाका कोशबाट

टप्प एक थोपा आँशु

बग्यो उजाडिएका गाला हुँदै

र चुम्यो कठोर, व्यग्र धर्तीलाई

भूमण्डलीकरण

विनोदविक्रम केसी


कविताले पेट भरिंदैन, आङ पनि ढाकिंदैन । तर पनि त्यसो भनेर कविहरुले कविता लेख्न छाड्दैनन् । साहित्यका विभिन्न विधाहरुमध्ये कविता पनि एउटा शक्तिशाली विधा मानिंदै आएको छ । 

उसो त कविता र कविको खिस्सी उडाउने चलन पनि त्यति नौलो छैन र हाम्रो समयका कथित बेस्टसेलरहरुमध्ये कविताका पुस्तकले विरलै ठाउँ पाउँछन् । हुन पनि मानिसले कति कविता पढ्छन् भन्ने कुरा समाजमा मानवीय संवेदना कत्तिको छ भन्नेमा भर पर्छ । त्यसै गरी कत्तिको राम्रा कविता लेखिन्छन् भन्ने कुरा चाहिं कति साधनाशील र प्रतिभाशाली कविहरु छन् भन्ने कुरामा भर पर्छ । 

इमान्दार भएर भन्नुपर्दा म आफैं त्यति धेरै कविता पढ्ने मानिस हैन तर आफैंले कहिलेकाहीं लेख्ने गरेका झूर कविताको सापेक्ष राखेर हेर्दा कतिपय कविका कविताहरुले ज्यादै प्रभावित बनाउँछन् । भुपि शेरचन र श्रवण मुकारुङका शक्तिशाली कवितापछि मलाई त्यही स्तरमा विनोद विक्रम के सीका कविताले छोएका छन् । त्यसैले कविको मौखिक अनुमति लिएर यो एउटा शक्तिशाली कविता यहाँ प्रस्तुत गरेको छु । 




साँझ साँझतिर
रामप्रसादको पुरानो घरमा
आइपुग्यो भूमण्डलीकरण
त्यो भन्छन् नि अङ्ग्रेजीमा ‘ग्लोबलाइजेशन ’
हे, आइपुग्यो ‘ग्लोबलाइजेशन ’

गोरो,
अग्लो,
नीलो आँखा भएका,
सुन्दर
त्यो भन्छन् नि अंग्रेजीमा ‘ह्याण्डसम ’
हो, ‘ह्याण्डसम’ भूमण्डलीकरण

राम्रसादले यथासक्य गर्यो अतिथि सत्कार
खानपिनपछि
भूमण्डलीकरणले आफ्नो झोला खोल्यो
र, बाँड्न थाल्यो
पहिलो विश्व
त्यो भन्छन् नि अंग्रजीमा ‘फस्र्ट वल्र्ड’
 हो, ‘फस्र्ट वल्र्ड’का चिल्ला कोसेलीहरु

रामप्रसादको कान्छो छोरोलाई
एक डिब्बा चकलेट दियो
उः दंग पर्यो

जेठो छोरोलाई
एक दर्जन कण्डम दियो
उसले अप्ठ्यारो मान्यो

रामप्रसादकी छोरीलाई
ब्रा, मेकअप किट र जेतेमेते दियो
ऊ लाजले रातो भई
रामप्रसादकी आमालाई
छातीमा ‘सेक्सी लेडी’ लेखिएको 
रातो स्वेटर दियो
बूढी मक्ख परिन्

रामप्रसादकी श्रीमतीलाई 
घुँडामा फाटेको जिन्स प्यान्ट दियो
उसले अलिक चित्त दुखाई

रामप्रसादको पालोमा 
झोला रित्तियो
उदार भूमण्डलीकरणले 
आफूले पिइरहेको क्यानवियर थमाइदियो उसका हातमा

यो नयाँ वर्ष, खै के नयाँ वर्ष

यो नयाँ वर्ष,

Photo courtesy: Wikimedia Commons. All images in public domain

खै के नयाँ वर्ष

तुवाँलोको बादल,

आँशुको वर्षा,

आकांक्षाहरुको नदी,

अतृप्त इच्छाहरुको समुद्र


सँगुरझैं मोटाएका कुकुरहरु

बाँसझैं दुब्ला 'खाते' हरुलाई

भुक्दै, लखेट्दै तर्साइरहेछन्

बाहिर कोही कठ्यांग्रिइरहेछ

हामी अर्को सिरक खापिरहेछौं



क्षितिजमा छ धाँजा फाट्ने गर्मी

हामी गमलामा पीपल रोपिरहेछौं

पीपलका पहेंलिएका पातसँगै आउने

यो नयाँ वर्ष, खै के नयाँ वर्ष



पीपल पलाओस् भित्ताको कापमा

र फूटाओस् इंट्टा र सिमेन्टलाई

गर्जिओस् आकाश, धाँजा फाटोस् जमीन

हिउँदले कँपाओस्, वर्षाले भिजाओस्

पुराना जुत्ता त्याग्नुको बदला

खिया लागेका विचार त्यागुन् मानिसहरु

बगैंचा कलमी गर्नुसट्टा

ढोंग र पाखण्डको एक पत्र काटुन् मानिसहरु

रोउन् मानिसहरु, हाँसुन् मानिसहरु

आँशु झार्नसम्म नअड्कलुन् मानिसहरु



प्लाष्टिकको कुर्सीमा बाँधिएको घोडाजस्तै

नबाँधियोस् यो नयाँ वर्ष

खुलोस् आकाश, उन्मुक्त होउन् मानिसहरु

रुन र हाँस्न सिकुन् मानिहरु

शुभ नयाँ वर्ष

In the darkest depths of solitude

'Solitude' by Frederic Leighton 

In the darkest depths of solitude,
there lies a humble picture of yours:
a glimpse of light comes and goes,
then remains the pervasive darkness.

In the darkest depths of solitude,
gloom lurks behind the facade of normalcy;
a hint of smile comes and passes,
there remain the sighs and grunts.

In the darkest depths of solitude,
your ugliness is reflected in full glare of light,
your strengths go into hibernation,
your shrewdness disappears;
and there you are left alone:
amid vanishing beauty and willpower.

In the darkest depths of solitude,
you find yourself utterly alone, powerless, naked and vulnerable;
threads tangled in the floor,
not knowing how to untangle and then to weave;
people all around,
not knowing how to engage and how not to;
in the darkest recesses of the labyrinth called life,
not knowing how far to go which way and how far not;
your begging eyes meet with sneers and jeers.

Can’t you see!

Droughts and famines in our doorsteps,
My friend,
Floods and hurricanes
In the order to follow,
Dark nights chasing the bright days.
Cool mornings replaced by hot humid hours.
How to tolerate, my friend!
Pigeons floating in the air hunted by the vultures,
Wings of sparrows frozen by cold,
Parrots locked in the cage.
Who’ll sing the rhyme of freedom, my friend!
Fresh air replaced by tonnes of smoke,
Water contaminated with the nuclear waste,
What to breath and what to drink,
Oceans running short of fishes,
Glaciers receding metres a month
What to quench thirst?
Throttled by injustice,
Strangled by poverty,
Ultra modern missiles targeting the villages
Where to seek asylum? My friend!
In the world growing so narrow day by day,
Where to take few peaceful breathes?
They say it is global village,
With no boundries, no road blocks,
Only liberty and freedom.
Resources looted, manpower exported,
Trade of weapons disasterously universalized
Freedom for the powerful to do anything
From sanctions to genocides,
Guarantee of no retaliation.
Yes there are boundaries for the others
Poverty and wealth piling on two camps
The distance between them growing.
Can these boundries ever be challenged?
In the face of impending disaster
I appeal, my friend!
Are you lured by those sweet words?
Are you scared of those inhumane threats?
That can mislead for years, frighten for months,
They are not going to last for ever, my friend!
Masks of democracy, peace and stability eroding,
I can see those anthrocidal faces
Preparing to launch another attack on humaniy,
To kill lakhs, displace millions
For sake of few thousand ‘people’
My friend, can’t you see them laughing insanely
After their successful mission to assault humanity.

The Great Friends

In the midday
they kidnapped her.
They had machine guns in shoulders
And dollars in the bag
And they had mask in the face.
They dragged her
In the rough floor of civil war
They disrobed her
Among a large crowd, the whole world
But all others blindfolded
Yes in the midday,
They battered her.
Predators with the sniffing dogs,
Disguised as the great friends,
They caught the steering
Yes they drove her to the trouble
They led her to the dark,
In the morning,
They were stepping out of the pool of blood,
Yes, their lips were still wet with blood.
But they were still shouting
the slogans of peace and democracy.
They kept on bringing the fatal weaponry
And they were reassuring their stance for peace.
A barrel of SMG staring at us,
We were as quite as in a funeral.
They interpreted this as approval
of their heinous act.
Yes they prematurely invited the dark night
Throughout Asia, Africa and Latin America
They robbed the babies of their parents,
They seized the walking sticks of the grandma’s.
Then they declared how much they did
For the peace and prosperity
through their so called free press.
They chopped her fingers
And announced they would arrive to help
Whenever she needs to use the hand.
Yes, they were so called true friends,
Yes they were agents from Washington.

Destination

O friend,
I have grown up,
As I can see today,
I have grown up.
The hills standing in the same place,
The rivers flowing in the same way,
The clouds thunder, it rains the same way.
Still I am different,
Yes friend, I have grown up.
I am not a child now
And should not be so.
But friend I am worried.
The days passing, nights skidding
Are the dreams of childhood,
coming true or being slowly being forgotten?
The sun never forgets to rise and set
The plate like moon comes every month,
The guavas never fail to yield the fruit.
Crores of litre of water flown since my childhood
Still the river is never dry
Friend, why my destination so far?
When my hands have grown so long
My footsteps spaced so wide,
Still my dreams have come no nearer.
Those innocent promises made in early years,
Are they to be buried by the fresh ones?
O friend, I am afraid
Whether before concluding my life,
I’ll have to remember the dreams and
Curse my youth for ignoring them.
I am afraid of the skeleton of the old age
Who is burdened to lament for the wasted days.
Friend I have grown up
But my destination so far.